Page 9 of Buried Souls
Not until the chair groans under me.
“Oh, shit—”
My feet lift off the floor. My arms fly out, flapping in the air like some chicken in a hopeless attempt to keep myself upright, but the chair tips back as my weight tilts the delicate balance. I find myself sprawled out on the kitchen tiles, the once cozy piece of furniture shattered to countless bits under me.
“Oh, no...”
I bolt upright, the worm that’s slithered out of my mouth andits corporal absence completely forgotten about and replaced with concern when I see the absolute mess I’ve made, and the current disheveled state of the kitchen.
It looks like a fucking warzone.
“Oh, no. No, no, no, no.”
I spin, taking in the muddy footprints painting the once pristine tiles and the chunks of wood that lie in tatters all over the floor.
“Shit.” I glance around, frantically trying to find something to mop up the mud with, but I’m left disappointed and desperate and oh so miserable as I fail to see any rags lying around.
“What do I do? Think, Elena. Think.”
A sudden idea pops into my head as I peek down at my clothes– at myshreddedand thoroughly soaked clothes.
“Well, there goes that.”
I sigh, rubbing my temples.
Fatigue and heavy chills overtake me. Violent tremors shake my entire frame as I stand in the middle of the deserted room.
“You should probably take these things off and put on something dry, Elena,” I ramble on to myself. The way I’ve always done ever since I was a little girl. Hearing my own voice has always brought a sense of peace to me, and it’s no different now, as I stand in this half dream state of warped reality. “Wouldn’t want yourself catching a cold, on top of everything else that seems to have gone horribly wrong.”
I rip the multiple layers off, peeling them from my body like coats of paint until I’m standing in my drenched lace underwear, the necklace that was in my coat pocket only a moment ago, now hanging from my neck.
“Oh, no,” I repeat for the hundredth fucking time since getting off that wretched train.
My leather travel bag: I left it in the forest.
My nostrils flare as I inhale slowly, begging my brain to startfunctioning at a somewhat tolerable capacity.
“Great job, Elena. Just fabulous.”
So much for being a revered historian with a brilliant mind.
I smack my head.Think, Elena! Think!And pace back and forth. I’d be certifiably insane to go back out into the woods to retrieve my belongings in nothing but my underwear,especiallynot in this weather.
Especially when I don’t know what could be hiding out there, amongst the trees.
“Oh, stop it. There’s nothing out there. Nothing but leaves and broken branches and—” A bolt of lightning flashes through the murky glass followed by a resonating boom of thunder, causing me to jump back and disregard the newest wild idea that has already begun to form.
Taking my bundle of ruined clothes, I search the place.
My eyes land on a fireplace with a cheerful fire burning bright in its hearth, its flames beckoning me to come closer. Urging me to ignore my gut feeling that’s screaming at me that there shouldn’t be an active fire in an abandoned mansion. Enticing me, until I find myself standing in front of the flames, unable to look away.
My lids feel heavy, the cold that has seeped into my bones finally taking its toll on me. A mirror speckled by time stands above the fireplace. Shadows dance across it. Shadows that could easily be mistaken for faces.
My gaze flies up.
My reflection stares back at me.
It was only my imagination.
